


Guitar Lessons

by faultyfriendofyours



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, starrison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faultyfriendofyours/pseuds/faultyfriendofyours
Summary: Ringo only wanted to learn a few chords but got much more than he ever imagined.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Kudos: 51





	Guitar Lessons

The room was finally empty. Everyone had put away their equipment and left the studio for the day. Only Ringo was left, fiddling with a drumstick as he walked the room. His eyes were fixed on the acoustic guitar sat up in the corner.

Pocketing the stick, he edged closer, glancing around the room to be secure in his solitude. He seemed to be in the clear. The guitar was his for the taking. He’d watched George fiddle with it all day, too embarrassed of a failure that hadn’t yet happened to play in front of the others.

He picked up the guitar and strummed a few cords, emitting a clunky and novice sound. Cringing at the noise, he went back to the three cords that he somewhat felt comfortable with. The hesitant strums continued as he paced the room, finally falling into the sofa. He moved his finger upon the D cord and tried to think of another cord that might sound good with that. He tentatively tried something and immediately hated it.

“Not horrible.” Ringo jumped from his skin at the sound of George’s voice. “Not good but definitely not horrible.” Geo was smiling as he said it, leaning against the doorframe. His smile was always so warm and inviting that any words that left his mouth were softened by it.

Ringo relaxed against the cushions. At least it was Geo catching him fiddling with a guitar and not John or Paul. Though he didn’t think any of his mates would be outright rude towards his interest in another instrument, he thought George would be the most willing to help.

“‘Least I’m not horrible, I suppose.” Ringo gave a weak smile, setting the guitar beside him as George pushed himself off the frame.

“No, no. Pick it up, son.”

Nerves bundled tightly in his stomach as George walked over. Being alone with Geo had become somewhat uncomfortable in the past few months and Ringo hated himself for it. Ignoring the butterflies, he moved the guitar onto his lap again and shifted uneasily on the couch. His eyes bounced from George and the guitar, the distance between them quickly shrinking.

“You plan to waste your time teaching a drummer strings?” The words came out in a joking manner but he meant them. He felt a waste of time every now and then when he compared himself to the others.

“S’not a waste if you want to learn,” George said simply, wrapping his arms around Ringo’s to move his hands around the guitar. His mate’s corrections had turned Ringo sideways on the couch, his backside pushed into one of George’s crossed legs, George’s other leg dangled off the couch.

Ringo swallowed down a lump in his throat as his heartbeat galloped. Then, of all things, George had to breathe. Breath against his ear and his cheek as he made sure Ringo’s hands were in the right place. Was he speaking? Ringo suddenly forgot English if he was speaking it.

“You alright, Ritch?” George’s words came out in a soft laugh, his chin resting on Ringo’s shoulder.

 _No_ is exactly what he wanted to answer. But, instead, he lied. “Yeah, yeah.” He strummed down on the guitar like George had wanted. It sounded nice.

Did George know of the feeling he had developed? Was this a form of torture for his queer thoughts? He’d had thoughts of George for quite some time now but he would never admit to it. Not even if he was tortured, he thought.

“Not bad, little drummer boy.”

Okay. This was torture and he felt he might go back on his word already. Worrying his lower lip, Ringo turned his head to find George smiling down at the guitar, moving the drummer’s hands about the strings.

A tightness took hold of his chest and he thought he could scream at himself, at George, at anyone. But he didn’t scream and he didn’t pull away from George’s arms like he knew he should. He really should before he did something stupid. Something he can’t take back.

That would have been smart but his mind could not fathom smart at that moment. So, instead, he leaned back against George’s chest and relaxed to his touch. Did George’s breath hitch as he settled? No. He must have imagined it. He did not, however, imagine George’s leg coming uncrossed to line up against his.

Ringo dared another look back at George but his eyes were still down and his hands were still instructing Ringo’s to strum without the lad actually doing any of the work besides pressing down on a string. But that smile that revealed his pearly fangs had to mean something. He had to feel the burning delight where their skin touched.

Now the tightness in his chest doubled and he almost couldn’t breathe. Ringo could not stand this. Slowly, he took back control of his hands and placed the guitar on the floor. To his continued surprise, George did not move, his chin still on Ringo’s shoulder. The man was even humming. Humming! While Ringo sat there, half dead.

“Not fancying the instrument?” George’s hands had retreated behind the drummer and he suddenly wished he hadn’t moved the guitar.

With a lung full of air, Ritch pulled away from his mate and twisted to face him. George was looking on, his brows raised, his lips parted. He looked worried or even scared.

“You- Do you- Are you-“ Ringo tried at words but that didn’t work. They were stuck deep in his throat, only letting out small fragments.

George scooted back before moving to sit normally, his head hung down. “I thought that you, um- Hey, I didn’t-” He seemed to want to make a joke but his words failed him as well. That mixed with the look on his face! God. It broke Ringo’s heart and he wanted to kiss it all away. But George was moving, about to leave the couch.

Without thinking, Ringo grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. George tried to speak but only stared into Ringo’s eyes. “Fuck…” Ringo breathed the word before leaning in to kiss his mate.

He was kissing his friend— his very much male friend— and said friend wasn’t pulling back. He was leaning into it, actually, deepening the kiss until lips were parting and tongues were moving and hands were wandering over bodies. All the while, alarm bells were sounding in Ritchie’s head but he turned them all off to live in this moment and remember it forever.

After only seconds or many years, George pulled back without untangling his hands from Ringo’s hair. He looked as cool as ever as he raised one brow and smirked, panting lightly.

“Should we plan more lessons in the future?”

Ringo’s heart soared at the prospect and immediately decided the only answer adequate was another kiss.


End file.
